The Girls Come Easy, But The Drugs Come Cheap
by SadisticxBoredom
Summary: "Ah, but this is the beauty of it – if you were truly cold you wouldn't fidget so in your teenage clothing. You look like you're sixteen years old, a boy groupie at one of my concerts."
1. cut my hair, change my name

**The Girls Come Easy, But The Drugs Come Cheap**

**Rating:** R/NC-17

**Pairings:** Klavier/Apollo, heavily implied Apollo/Trucy, heavily implied Apollo/Kristoph.

**Warnings:**A/U, obviously, in a way. Written for two awesome people in my life, Lauren and Betsy. Inspired by the headcanon we three adore. Mature subjects, boy love, boy and girl love, etc.

_If everyone cared and nobody cried,_

_If everyone loved and nobody lied…_

_If everyone shared and swallowed their pride,_

__

Then we'd see the day when nobody died.

Part I: All You Fear

A hand scrambled up towards a chipped sink that had obviously seen better days. _Come on. I can do this – I can pull myself up, here. Just a little more… Just a little more… Fuck, that hurt._

Slim fingers grasped the silver piping underneath the sink, and he slumped against the tile, nearly dropping the half-full bottle of tequila in his free hand. That didn't work so well. It was three in the morning and the party seemed like it was going to go on until dawn. Apollo Justice had grown accustomed to the club scene years ago, during a fall-out with Phoenix and estrangement from their odd 'family'. _There's got to be a better way to feel better than this._

The bass from the dance floor pulsated in the club's bathroom. He could feel the vibrations in his feet, and every so often someone would stumble drunkenly inside, not paying him any more attention than anyone else would to a homeless man on the street. Giving up on trying to crawl to his feet from his position on the floor, which people had seen fit to graffiti as soon as the walls were filled, he fumbled in one pocket of his ratted jacket – something that was totally uncharacteristic to wear, at least for him. But that was before.

Skinny jeans clung to his legs in an almost impossible fashion, and scuffed shoes of which the brand name escaped him – was it Osiris? – found their way underneath thin thighs as he balanced against the wall, the world a blur from the alcohol. An already prepared syringe of one drug or another swiftly escaped the pocket of said jacket, as well as a thin, rubber strip. But, the time for that wasn't now. Some man he'd met on the dance floor had slipped it to him, promising a hell of a time if he took it and met him back out there.

Thing was, injecting drugs wasn't really his thing. Apollo had learned that he liked to go fast – and slow, occasionally, on the weed he bought often from a man who lived a few floors down from his penthouse. He decided that instead of injecting the stuff the man had given him, at least for now, he'd go outside to the patio of the impromptu bar that was awkwardly placed in the middle of the club to smoke a cigarette.

There was a harsh difference in lighting when he finally managed to pull himself off of the floor, putting the thing back into his pocket. The strobe lights and too-loud music were deafening him, blinding him as he tried to push through the crowd and get outside, where few people stood. The unfortunate part of the night was when he reached the door, completely oblivious and uncaring towards whomever was exiting the patio, and he ran right into him.

"Acht – excuse me," said a man much taller than he. The voice was familiar but he couldn't quite place it, until he looked upwards. Klavier Gavin, in a place like this at an unholy hour of the night.

"G – Gavin," was all the brunet could slur before the blond prosecutor pulled him back outside, clearly in disbelief at the sight before him. Apollo smelled of strong liquors, some of which he couldn't quite place. "Wow. This is nothing short of a miracle."

Klavier brushed off his obviously failed attempt at sarcasm, and folded his arms, craning his neck to get a better look-over of the defense attorney. It was the same sort of stare Phoenix used to give him, at least, until – no. Not respectful at all, but then again, Justice was a bit too intoxicated to pick a fight, even if there was nothing to fight about. In all honesty, Klavier was really the last person he had wanted to see at this point. It had been four years since they had seen each other, two of said years each because they both had been in entirely different places, Apollo in New York City, Klavier somewhere in Borginia.

"It's been a long time, Herr Forehead." His voice was nonchalant, as if they both were old friends and it was just a natural thing to strike up conversation. Apollo pretended to exam the frayed thumb-hole in the left arm of the jacket so he wouldn't have to look at Klavier. "I didn't think I'd see you again. And I'm sure I can't just speak for only myself."

"I didn't think it mattered."

_Good. Play it cool._

"What _are_ you doing here?" Klavier's voice was smooth and not confrontational. Apollo could sense a slight worried tone to his voice but he brushed it off with a swagger-filled chuckle, waving him off.

"Trying to have a good time. I've been busy lately."

Busting my ass during the day for work that no one thanks me for at the end of the day. Partying the night away. He looks the same as he always has. What an uncomfortable night.

"I heard," said Klavier with an air of indifference. "I've heard all about it."

"From who, Wright or the men I've defeated in court?"

The blond wasn't very sure if he liked the tone Apollo used. It was one of arrogance, fueled by the liquor that he'd no doubt been chugging all night, by the looks of things. He leaned and curled tanned fingers against the rusting railing that separated the club's smoking area from the street. Faintly, Apollo wondered why there weren't paparazzi here – Klavier _Gavin _was here, at a club he faintly remembered was gay. But that was about all he remembered; club-hopping wasn't a new thing to him, and the name was escaping him, even though a neon sign hung above their heads, bright, illuminated.

The light from the sign bounced off of the highlights of their hair, and Apollo could see the garish green and blue reflecting from Klavier's hair and eyes. A bit unsettling in effect, so he looked away, shrugging. He could hear the tiny clinking noises that Klavier's expensive silver rings made as he tapped his fingers impatiently against the railing.

"Nothing so serious, ja? This is a bit strange for you, Justice, if I can say so myself."

"Only God can judge me," Apollo slyly responded, a sort of wittiness not lost on the seasoned prosecutor.

"Why are you here?"

"I think you owe me an answer first," the brunet slurred, idly poking the center of Klavier's chest. "From who?"

How the subject hadn't been dropped, Klavier would never know. "Herr Wright explained to me, some of it."

'What, the part where he was being an e – egocentric bitch or after, when it was clearly my fault that I was ejected from the household?"

Bitter laughter. One hand still held the tequila with a vice grip, and soon enough the glass object was opened and he had downed another large chug of the bitter, burning liquid. His eyes watered, but he defiantly wiped away the slight tearing with one sleeve. "Nein. He told me you had left for New York City, apparently made your fame, abandoned everything here, came back, and got into a bigger argument with him."

"Oh?"

"He said that you were flirting with suicide."

"He's always been one for the dramatic. You're lying to me about something. I can feel it."

Apollo's bracelet tugged at him in a lazy sort of way. Time seemed to slow down, though he was sure that he could've blamed the alcohol for that. "I assure you I'm not."

"You're a prosecutor. Isn't that what you do best, lie to people?"

Klavier scoffed at this, waving him off before folding his arms once more, fighting the urge to snap at him. He saw the faint lines on Apollo's hands – drug tracks? – and he was immediately sickened. "He said that you were arrogant and childish, that the fight was because you instigated it. Trucy wouldn't talk about it."

"Good. Not your business, anyways."

"Now you're the one lying to me, Herr Trainwreck." A sly, knowing smile appeared on Klavier's face. "You can't fool me. You look desolate and alone."

"Oh, cry me a river, Gavin."

"You hate loud music, yet… You appear in places like this every night."

Apollo snorted behind one hand. "You following me now, stalker?"

"You used to detest my music, and here I see you wearing a hoodie with the insignia of my old band."

His bracelet tugged at him again, but for entirely different reasons. "It was an old gift from Trucy, and it was the only jacket clean. It's kinda cold tonight."

"Ah, but this is the beauty of it – if you were truly cold you wouldn't fidget so in your teenage clothing. You look like you're sixteen years old, a boy groupie at one of my concerts."

"Objection!" he slurred, hand pressing into Klavier's chest, angrily pushing him backwards only an inch. "What do my clothing choices have anything to do with this?"

"You look like a mess."

"It's only the beginning of the night!" Apollo laughed. "They don't call me 'Mr. Fine' for nothing."

"I'm sure that the reason they call you that is really far from the adjective used here."

"You're a wet blanket, you know that?" He didn't need this, to be lectured by someone he hadn't seen in years. Klavier could see the slight dark circles underneath Apollo's once vibrant, now dulled eyes. At this point, the brunet had forgotten all about his cigarette and decided that he didn't feel like smoking one; the taste was a bit too gross for his 'palate' of sorts. Or maybe it was just because menthol tasted disgusting against the variety of liquors that were still laced on his tongue, his very being.

Before Klavier could say much else, Apollo was back inside the club, and he hadn't noticed that the young attorney had finished the bottle of tequila, which he had carelessly tossed over the rusting railing. It cracked in half, bits of glass scattering along the concrete, mixed with cigarette butts and the occasional bit of trash, sparkling beneath dim streetlights. When his ice-blue eyes caught sight that the man had disappeared back into the black, hazy crowd, he wordlessly followed, making sure not to bump into anyone else this time.


	2. don't fear the reaper

I LOVE YOU BETSY AND LAUREN. :3

When Klavier finally found Apollo again, after a space of a few hours, he didn't know whether to laugh or break down at the sight of the defense attorney.

"Shut _up, _sink," the brunet slurred, hands grasping at the rusted piping beneath the porcelain bowl. "Fuck _you_, man, okay? You don't know anything about nothin'."

He was frozen in place at the sight of him. An empty, broken needle lay a few feet away from him next to a thin rubber strip. A fine white powder had dusted itself under Apollo's nose. Before he knew what he was doing, he'd let the bathroom door swing shut. Apollo lazily looked up at the blond, and snickered.

"Shit, you were right. Look, it's Mr. Gavin!"

Klavier blinked, somehow getting the odd feeling that he wasn't really seeing who he was. "Ja."

"Since when did you start sounding like your brother?"

_Pang._ Well, that echoed in his chest. He was confusing him for Kristoph! Klavier ran a hand down his face, straightening his clothes out before he crouched beside Apollo, giving him a once-over. The brunet didn't protest to his slight prodding as his head rolled lazily back against the tile. Amber eyes stared at the cracked ceiling, at the light that kept flickering and giving the bathroom a creepy, horror movie look. This really wasn't the place for either of them to be, but at the same time, whereas Apollo couldn't move and didn't want to, Klavier felt as if he had no option _but_ to stay.

"I'm not Kristoph, Herr Trainwreck."

"Oh, it's _you_," he spat, suddenly angry. He tried to take a swing at the prosecutor, but it was easily dodged. His fist had missed the other's face by a few inches, maybe a foot. "Why do you keep stalking me?"

"Why are you doing this?"

"None of your fuckin' business," slurred the defense attorney, attempting to get up, eventually just stumbling into the other's arms, limply kneeling on the floor, head buried in Klavier's chest. "My life. Get over it."

"This isn't you," Klavier said, pausing. He honestly didn't know what to say in this situation. _Was _there anything to say? No, probably not, but he could sure as hell try. "Apollo, try to stand."

"You don't know me!" Apollo hissed. "Why can't you just go back to your little groupie whores and leave me alone? Shouldn't you be outside Ema Skye's window, serenading her as she calls the cops?"

Klavier gritted his teeth. "Apollo…"

"Leave me alone. I don't want your goddamn help. I'm fine. I'm having a great conversation with the sink, and – "

The sentence was started and finished as quickly as Klavier could blink. Apollo had suddenly chosen to stare behind Klavier, a far away look shadowing his eyes. His grip on Klavier loosened, and he slowly began to back away, hands clumsily sliding on the grimy floor as he pushed his back against the wall. His eyes darted around, and Klavier's hands trembled. Apollo was having a bad, horrible trip, and there was no way to stop it.

**Justice…**

"No," croaked Apollo, nails scratching against the floor. He pulled his knees to his chest as that oh-so-familiar voice echoed in the room, or his own mind.

**I can see you. You're not doing very well, are you?**

"Leave me alone…"

_Two slender hands reached towards Apollo, over Klavier's shoulders. He could see those blue eyes glinting in the dim light, and as soon as they came for his face they disappeared._

Apollo nearly screamed, hands beginning to claw at the air, covering his face.

_**Don't fear the reaper, Justice.**_

"Go _away_!" he almost screamed, attempting to launch himself to the left. He managed to hit himself face-first into the grimy rust in the process. Klavier then quickly moved forward, cradling the shaking and tearful Apollo in his arms. They stayed like that for more than an hour, and the other club-goers paid them no mind, as if this was the usual thing. Even as Klavier was crouched under the sink, rocking Apollo back and forth in his arms as the brunet mumbled incoherently about the demon behind the blond, a few people used the sink and droplets of water dripped into his hair.

Eventually Klavier was able to pull him to a standing position. Apollo had fallen silent, completely dazed. The shorter man had to lean on the blond for support, and there was a bit of difficulty on the others' part as he tried to maneuver him from the bathroom. "Give me your keys," he requested quietly, before they exited back into the main part of the club.

"I… Can drive," he slurred, wobbling. He almost fell, taking Klavier down with him. "I can drive…"

"No, you can't. You'll have us both dead in seconds."

"Who said you were comin' with me?" Apollo snapped, grip on the other tightening. He could barely support himself, let alone talk at the same time. "I'm goin' home by _myself_."

"No, you're not."

They had this argument all the way to Apollo's car. It took them a while to even find the thing, and when they managed to locate it in the parking lot adjacent to the club Klavier had to pause, trying to figure out how the defense attorney had managed to afford such a car.

It was sleek, cherry red and perfect to the last detail. The rims were shined to perfection, and it looked to be some sort of foreign model. He didn't trouble himself with the finer details as he fumbled for Apollo's keys that laid dormant in his pocket, pressing the button to unlock the car. He dragged Apollo to the passenger's side, and Apollo didn't resist this time, merely finding comfort in the leather seat. As it was on the outside, the inside was damn near perfect, and while the blond did have a few crazy parties in his lifetime he wasn't prepared for what he saw in the back seat.

Dozens of liquor bottles, mostly empty, covering the floor. Apollo was right – he had been doing this every night for a long time. Gritting his teeth, the German pulled himself into the driver's seat, adjusting it. The one thing he liked about Apollo's car was that instead of opening outwards, the doors were custom built, and opened upwards. As soon as they had slid back down, he put the key in the ignition.

Being the rock star that he was, he should have been more prepared for the blasting music that immediately erupted from the speakers as soon as he started up the car. What surprised him was not the fact that Apollo had the music to an ear-splitting level, no, that shock had already run through him earlier upon finding him at the club, but was that _his_ music was the sound he was hearing.

_I've been waiting so long for you to answer my call…_

_I know you should've just said you were ready,_

_But how can I wait when you tease, tempt, won't let me?_

_Guilty, oh, guilty love,_

_I can see you want me too…_

_Can it be just me and you?_

"Nice song choice, Herr Trainwreck."

"If you call me that one more time you're gettin' punched in the fuckin' face."


End file.
